Enough
by casuallllfollower
Summary: It was time for the inevitable, but some wizards do things differently than others. DM/HP


_A/N_

 _I've been a little Drarry heavy, I know, but I promise some Snamione one-shots are coming, and if you're into Phantom of the Opera, I have some stories for that coming too! This is a sad one, guys, just a small warning._

"I can't do this anymore," Draco said sternly, standing in the middle of the sitting room.

Harry looked up from his spot on the couch, gripping the book in his hands just a little bit tighter. The reading habit could be solely blamed on the man now threatening to leave, but ever since he'd gotten into it, there was no stopping. The brunette wizard gulped, nodding as he pursed his lips together. What could he say?

"Harry?"

"I know." There, he'd spoken.

Harry didn't necessarily want Draco to leave him... he never had, and he really never would, but they just didn't work. He knew that. Malfoy would always be himself, holding higher standards and only accepting cleanliness when it came down to it. He was obsessed with his clothes, the way he looked, and what people saw him as. There was a hidden side to him, one that was driving them both insane seeing as not a single person knew of their relationship. Draco acted like he didn't have Harry, sometimes even in his presence.

Harry was the utter opposite of his partner. He could probably care less about what clothes were on the floor or when he folded the sitting room's blankets. Magic made everything slightly easier when it came to his room and dishes, but he also hadn't touched his hair with a brush in forever. Washing it everyday was enough, it was going to look awful even if he brushed anyways, so why bother? He read only because there were no assignments attached to the words, and because Draco had liked to see him peer over his glasses to read.

Draco hated his glasses.

Harry hated the blonde's nitpicking.

"You know why I have to leave?"

"Of course," Harry nearly choked on the words, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.

"Right," Malfoy sighed, seeming to hold back tears himself. "We just-"

"Don't work," Harry finished, "There's not much we can do right together."

"We're our own little oxymoron."

The bag on Draco's shoulder finally caught the attention of green eyes, and Harry stood, his novel forgotten.

"I'm-"

"Barbaric," Draco finished, though it wasn't nasty. He was laughing, sort of, his voice soft and reminiscent.

"Entirely. And you're taintless," Harry mentioned, taking another step forward.

"Bar the disgusting scar on my left arm, you're abundantly correct."

The small breath of air that rushed through Harry's nose should have been a laugh, a full-blown chuckle that consumed him. Sadly, he didn't have it in him to do so.

"I wish it wasn't us," Draco continued, "That there was a husband you wouldn't leave, or that you were going on some impossible mission and I had no choice but to move on."

"I haven't been placed undercover in forever."

It was almost as if he was telling the truth on that one. Harry refused anything too terribly dangerous, but Draco complained consistently enough as it was with the day-missions Harry kept up. They fought over his being an Auror a lot.

"I know you're offered them. Just, you don't take them because you're trying to avoid a row."

Harry hummed in reply; another step forward.

"I am aware you ceased talking to Blaise because it made me uncomfortable."

"I don't want to leave you."

The words Malfoy had said were not a lie, and they wouldn't ever be such. He hated to see himself broken in the mirror from a nasty row, or to see the tears in Harry's eyes when he'd harp on him quite gratingly for something.

"Don't," Harry whispered, reaching out a tan hand to pull the bag from his partner's shoulders.

It fell, but Draco shook his head.

"I have to."

"I told you I know that... just... tonight?"

The wizard smiled.

"We're already gone, Potter, I can't-"

"Hey, I know," Harry soothed, placing his warm hand on Malfoy's cold cheek. He smiled, "There's nothing left."

"Except-" Draco stuttered, leaning forward and teasing both of them with the heat of their kisses, the feeling of their breaths combining and intoxicating their senses. They hadn't kissed in what felt like years, but in reality it was merely a few weeks. The fact didn't change as Draco bore gray eyes into green.

"It's the only thing we're good at these days."

The blonde agreed.

"This," he placed his hands on a fit, Auror's chest and then closed his fists, shivering at the feeling of a perfect body right in his grasp, "Isn't usually how wizards get over one-another."

Harry had his hands under the black blazer Draco had put on, and he concurred wholeheartedly with the statement.

"Everyone has their own way of moving on, Malfoy."

It had been an awful slip between name usage over the past few months as well. As they tried to work through their problems, it seemed to be that it could only happen formally, and that had been their addresses in work. Neither really cared what they called the other any longer.

"Let's do what we're both wonderful at then," Harry declared, despite his quiet tone, "I'm not going to beg you to stay here... or to stay with me, but will you?"

"I've got my traveling cloak on, it would be a pity not to travel," Draco jested lightly.

"Come on," Harry implored regardless.

"What about tomorrow? How will either of us feel, do you think?"

The nervous look on Draco's face, and in his gray and red eyes made Harry weary. Nervous and abashed wasn't his partner, he'd never been a wizard who copped out of things. This, however, their relationship... it was different. Neither man was healthy for the other, but being together had always felt ridiculously amazing.

"Kiss it goodbye."

Pale lips met slightly redder ones, and pale hands were threaded through black hair creating their familiar juxtaposition. They adored one-another's talents in the bed, and Merlin did their attraction stem deep. Harry pushed hard into the kiss, enjoying every second as tears splashed onto his face whether or not they were his own didn't matter.

The next morning was cold, surprisingly, considering the fact it was somewhere mid-summer like. Probably a Sunday, Harry figured as he rolled around and attempted to harvest the covers closer to his body. A lot of him hurt, and he smiled for a while when his back cracked in a satisfying way.

There was no sun coming through the windows of Grimmauld place, though with gray curtains, the boy-who-lived wasn't at all worried. Opening his eyes to inspect if there were clouds or not, Harry reached for his glasses and shoved them on, slipping a pair of pants on as he went over to the window. The sheets were so unorderly he didn't even bother to make them on the way over.

A layer of fog rested over the streets, covering the town like his blankets had kept him warm when his other source of heat had fled.

Harry knew Malfoy wouldn't be there when he awoke, it was inevitable. His smile was in lieu of knowing Draco would find someone who wanted to be cleaned up after and harped on, and who would love him just enough to make him stay.

In fact, the head of blonde hair down the road seemed familiar in the dim light of morning, Harry thought. The wand the wizard pulled seemed even more familiar, once held in his own hands and used for great things.

With the figure vanished, Harry returned to bed and fell back to sleep, wanting nothing more than for him to return and yet never come back.


End file.
